


Some Nights

by Elise_Davidson



Series: 40 Snapshots [10]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: 17. Wake Up, 40 Snapshots, But they kinda like each other, Drunk Nights, M/M, Phlox is way too cheerful for a hangover that awful, They don't remember
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-12
Updated: 2016-08-12
Packaged: 2018-08-08 07:30:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7748698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elise_Davidson/pseuds/Elise_Davidson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shran and Archer woke up naked with little memory of the previous night.  Their memory definitely went into a coma after Archer tried to show Shran how to play "quarters".  They piece together little, but manage to complete the puzzle together anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Some Nights

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Retrace](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3294026) by [Fragged](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fragged/pseuds/Fragged). 



> Inspired wholly by Fragged's fic, "Retrace". Really liked the idea of the pairing waking up, naked, with no memory and trying to parse it together.
> 
> Title from F.U.N.'s song of the same name.

 

  1. Wake Up



 

The first thing Archer realized when he woke was that he reeked of the Benzite liquor he had been drinking with Shran last night.  The next was that the only thing worse than morning breath was morning breath that smelled like Benzite liquor.  His stomach churned in warning, and he squeezed his eyes shut against the dim (but _fucking piercing_ ) lights of his quarters.  He brought the heels of his hands up to scrub at his closed eyes, and that was about the point he realized he wasn’t alone.

Archer grimaced, completely against opening his eyes again, not even to verify his bed partner.  Besides, it ended up giving him the time he apparently needed to realize he was completely naked and had no idea how he had ended up that way, let alone who was in his bed with him.  He shoved the fleshy palms of his hands desperately into his eyes, wondering if this was about the time it would be okay to commit suicide by airlock.

The desire to follow through with the action tripled in size when he abruptly acknowledged the cool skin next to his own, a body with a lower body temperature than most humans—well, at least it wasn’t T’Pol then, not that he thought T’Pol would _ever_ be drunk enough off _anything_ to do something so impulsively.

Then again, there had been that weird thing with the chocolate from Betazed.

Archer shook his head and immediately regretted it, partly because it made his stomach flip in ways that gymnasts would be proud of and also because it stirred his bed companion into consciousness.  The minute he heard the groan was the minute he knew _exactly_ who was in his bed, and he finally opened his eyes to confirm.

Shran’s antennae and white mop of hair were the only parts peeking from beneath the covers, his groan vibrating against Archer’s skin.  He shifted against Archer, just enough that the captain could definitively confirm what Andorians felt like naked.

It was too much at that point, with Shran sitting up, his antennae seeming to agree that his head was banging just as much as Archer’s, a questioning look in his blue eyes, and, even though the chill against his skin felt good, Archer couldn’t hold the contents of his stomach anymore.

Before Shran could utter a word, Archer disappeared into the private bathroom of his quarters to retch up whatever was left in his stomach, ignoring the various piles of garments strewn about the floor as well as Porthos’s upturned head.

Shran, and presumably his clothes, were gone when Archer exited the bathroom and collapsed back to the bed, regretting it already that his day off was likely going to be consumed by sleep, hydration, and painkillers.

XXXXXXXXXXX

When he felt human enough, Archer made his way to Phlox to obtain the aforementioned painkillers.  Phlox was his usual cheerful self, tittering about the consumption of alien liquors on the human physiology.

Archer rubbed the bridge of his nose.  “Can I just get a hypospray for the headache?  I don’t need a lecture.”

Phlox was undeterred by the hostile tone as he prepared the medication.  “I suspect General Shran will be by any minute now himself then, though I suspect I’ll have to drain some of the venom from my Sklarian bat-worms; Andorian physiology responds much more positively when it’s closer to an anesthetic than an anti-inflammatory.”

Archer didn’t hear much past Shran’s name, and tried not to bristle at the memory of chilled skin sliding along his own as he had fled the bed.  “What makes you say that?”  He was hoping for casual, but even to his own ears, his pitch was higher than normal.

Phlox didn’t comment on the change in tone thankfully, but he did pin Archer with a curious stare.  “I’d imagine both of you are feeling under the weather after all that Benzite liquor, hmm?  It’s particularly potent to…well, anyone without the benefit of a Benzite digestive system.  As I recall, that species is capable of deriving nutrition from just about anything—not unlike those mammals you have on Earth; goats, is it?”

Archer nodded numbly as the hypospray was pressed to his neck.  “So…we all drank quite a bit then, huh?” Again, his easy tone was ruined by the desperate interest that colored his voice.

Phlox shrugged amicably enough.  “I wouldn’t say we _all_ …I would say until I left, which was quite early in the evening, I must point out, you and the general were playing an Earth game—quarters, I think it was?”

Archer gave a strangled sort of noise before responding.  “Yes; it’s a drinking game from long ago that my father taught me.  You either toss or bounce a coin and try to make it into the beer glass.”

Phlox nodded his understanding.  “Ah, not unlike a game we have on Denobula; we use a small plastic ball instead.”

The conversation was so surreal that Archer couldn’t even begin to make sense of it—he was discussing drinking games with his chief medical officer, and was nearly about to explain beer pong.  He shook his head to clear it, relieved that at least it didn’t shoot through his head like a small marching band.  He still felt fuzzy and out of it, but there was a distinct lack of pain.

“Thanks for the painkiller, doc,” Archer finally went with, simply because he wasn’t sure he could deal any further.  He turned toward the door as it opened, Shran entering with bleary eyes and his blue skin looking pale.  He stopped, eyes going cold and his entire body stiffening at the sight of Archer.  “Just heading back to my quarters then to get some rest.  Thanks again, doc.”

He brushed past Shran without another word.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Shran watched as Archer left too quickly for the fact that the Enterprise’s captain had little to do on a day off.  He stood idly after Archer’s body had disappeared around the corner for a long moment before he turned to Phlox.

“Was wondering if you had something for a headache?” Shran asked when Phlox turned an openly nosy stare his way.

Phlox nodded.  “I have just the thing; if you’ll give me a moment, I have to extract the medication from—“

Shran tuned out, entirely certain that he didn’t want to know _where_ or _what_ the medicine came from, so long as it worked.  He scratched at the nape of his neck, letting his thoughts wander to _when_ , exactly, the Benzites had come up with a liquor _that_ potent.  He didn’t often indulge, but then Archer had turned up a shiny, silvery coin with a challenging game, and honestly, his memory was fuzzy enough by that point.

Phlox busied himself at a cage.  “You and the captain seemed to have had a pleasant time last night, hmm?”  His hands were probing inside of an enclosure that was lined in UV-reflective panels to keep light out.  “I don’t believe I’ve seen the captain relax so much in a very long time.”

“Constantly fending off potentially hostile trading partners might keep a man stressed for some time,” Shran pointed out, wincing as a shriek wailed from the cage Phlox fiddled in.  It went straight to his antenna—his right one, specifically, and he steadfastly ignored why that might be.

It certainly had _nothing_ to do with the fact he was suspiciously sure that there was a bite mark at the base of said antenna.

Phlox shrugged, hands still encased in the cage.  He shot an apologetic look at Shran.  “She’s being a bit…uncooperative.”

Shran could feel his own irritated energy radiating off in waves.  “Just give me whatever you give to pinkskins; I’m sure it will suffice,” he snapped.

“Oh, but I’m sure it won’t, and who has the medical degree, hmm?” Phlox responded too smartly for Shran’s increasingly bad mood.  “This will take just a moment.”

Shran’s antennae drooped; the doctor was damned stubborn and he already knew he wouldn’t be allowed to walk away at this point.  So he took a seat on a bio-bed and cradled his aching head in his hands, elbows propped on his knees, and tried to ignore the sensitive twinge at the base of his right antenna.

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Archer approached the mess hall cautiously, all too aware of the fact that this was the last room he recalled being in with Shran and the damned alien liquor.  He couldn’t put off his hunger anymore however, not to mention the fact he knew he’d feel better for eating.  He gathered his food and opted to sit alone, not willing to potentially hear any other stories about last night.

He was completely unprepared for someone plunking a tray at the table and taking a seat across from him with a huff of frustrated breath.

Archer looked up and found himself eye to eye with Shran, who was staring him down in a bullheaded way that let Archer know, in no uncertain terms, that he wasn’t getting out of this conversation.

At least, not with his balls intact.

“What do you want, Shran?” Archer muttered more into his food tray than to the man.

Shran snorted at him, unwrapping his silverware to eat.  “I didn’t say anything; I’m eating next to you.  Is this some weird Terran cultural thing that I should be aware of?”

The condescending tone grated on Archer’s already frazzled nerves.  “Perhaps I sat alone for a reason. Not to mention that usually, on _Earth_ , people ask before they sit at someone’s table.”

Shran didn’t move and began to eat in silence with Archer.  Archer didn’t protest, tucking into his own meal with little relish as his appetite seemed to have vanished due to Shran’s presence.  They both ate quickly and with little fanfare, both as much concentrated on replacing lost nutrients in an effort to cure the hangover they both clearly suffered from.

Even when the food was nearly gone, however, they both lingered at the table.

Archer morosely pushed a remaining pea on his tray, ignoring how Shran reluctantly smashed around some limp looking carrots.  The tension was palpable, thick enough that one might need an Andorian icepick just to get through it.  Shran was slumped in his seat, legs outstretched beneath the table, Archer’s own ankles cautiously wrapped around the legs of his chair.  There was little eye contact as they both seemed to be making the remnants of their meal last longer.

The loud bang of a tray falling at their table shocked both of them into attention as Trip smiled broadly at them.

“Glad to see you two still gettin’ along,” Trip remarked cheerfully.  “I wasn’t sure after the captain clocked you,” he said further to Shran.

Shran looked up at that, having not felt any particular bruising other than his right antenna (which, even with Phlox’s medicine, still throbbed at the base).  “I don’t really recall,” he said off-handedly.

Trip laughed heartily.  “It was a good punch…almost as good as the one you laid back.  But after that, T’Pol seemed pretty determined to get you back to your own quarters.  Something about how things are solved between drunk Vulcans and that logically…well, you know T’Pol.”

Archer flexed his hand, and only just now realized there was a faint bruising across his knuckles.  He gathered his tray.  “See you later, Trip,” he replied shortly, and went to put his tray in the replicator.

Shran remained, pushing his tray forward a bit.  He knew exactly how things were solved between drunk Vulcans, and it usually involved pummeling the hell out of each other.  “She really let us beat each other?”

Trip chuckled.  “I don’t think she would’a went that far honestly.  Last I knew, she was just escorting you to your quarters and letting the captain find his own way.”

Shran didn’t really want to hear any further and so he took his own tray back to the replicator for reclamation.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

Archer lay on his bed reluctantly, only because sitting at his desk felt too much like work and he wasn’t up to standing for long periods at this point.  He struggled to ignore the smells that he realized were on the sheets now, the smells of naked skin and sweat and other activities he really had no desire to analyze any closer.  None of which explained why he curled into the pillow Shran’s head had rested on that morning.

It also didn’t explain why he got half-hard at the smell.

However, his memory had been no more forthcoming now than it had been this morning, and his evening after introducing Shran to playing quarters was still blank.  He thought he could catch a few glimpses here and there, of drunkenly inviting Shran in, of unselfconsciously being touchy and affectionate, and even one flash of the two them lying in the bed, wrapped around each other and comparing skin tones.

What bothered Archer at the moment was the fact he wasn’t sure if those were memories or wishful thoughts.  He could easily imagine how it would be between them—harsh lines of stubbornness, breaking points of intimacy, cracked ridges of a real relationship—but then, he could also see how it could go down in flames.

Archer startled at the sound of the chime from his door and, without thinking, responded “Enter”.

And because the universe wasn’t done with Archer today apparently, Shran entered, antennae stiff and positioned back almost like a feral cat.  His fists were clenched and his frame was unyielding; the man was clearly determined to finish this.

“We woke up naked together, I know,” Archer finally blurted out before Shran could say anything.

Shran drew back in surprise, and Archer tried to ignore the way the ice blue eyes ran up and down the bed, clearly recalling the hard lines of flesh they had woken up to this morning.

“We did,” Shran responded, and sat edgily on the bed, close enough that his hip touched Archer’s knee.  “Do you remember anything?”

“Not really,” Archer responded reluctantly.  “Just that I was showing you how to play quarters in the mess.”

Shran nodded thoughtfully, his forehead drawn into a frown.  He said nothing for long enough that Archer considered kicking him out, but then Shran’s lips drew tight and began to speak.  “You bit my antenna.”

Archer tensed in the bed, stroking two fingers across Porthos to calm himself.  “I don’t really recall,” he responded in a mild parody of Shran’s earlier words to Trip, but there was no smile to indicate the humor.

Shran snorted irritably, head dropping a bit as his hand came up to massage the base of his right antenna.  “I don’t either, but I’m feeling it.”

Archer didn’t respond; instead, he rolled onto his stomach so he wouldn’t have to look Shran in the face anymore.

The quiet stretched and elongated, emphasizing their clear discomfort.  Porthos snuffled against Archer’s hip before jumping down to his own bed, convinced that it was time for sleep, which meant he needed to get down.

Archer drew a sharp breath when a cool hand suddenly came to rest on his hip.  “What are you doing, Shran?” he asked tiredly.

Shran sighed behind him, frustration clear in the throaty sound as he removed his hand.  “I must have touched you last night.”

“I more than likely touched you too,” Archer replied facetiously.

The silence returned, and the next time Shran’s chilled fingers came to rest on Archer’s hip, Archer said nothing.  It was all blunt nails and delicate sweeps, and whether it was wishful thinking or actual memories, Archer still felt himself getting aroused and hard, trying to hide it by pushing into the bed.

“Pinkskin?” Shran asked in a careful tone that Archer wasn’t sure Shran was capable of.

Archer finally turned onto his back to face Shran, his expression hard and honest.  “I don’t think you fucked me,” he said bluntly, even as Shran’s blue fingers came up to trace along Archer’s face, “I’d think I’d feel it if you had.”

Shran wanted to laugh but he couldn’t.  He rested his fingers along Archer’s collarbone.  He weighed his words carefully before speaking.  “Did you want me to fuck you?”

Archer’s body twitched and jolted; something that Shran was completely unprepared for, and was utterly unable to define _why_ Archer had reacted so.  Other than the ruddy flush coloring Archer’s cheeks and chest, he had little else to explain the bodily reaction.

Except for… _oh_.

Shran’s fingers clasped and tensed over Archer’s hip, fingers dragging now beneath the t-shirt and just under the waist of the worn blue jeans.  “You _do_.”  He scraped his nails over the skin.

“I still don’t remember what happened last night,” Archer said, but finally, _finally_ , a narrow hand came up and laid itself hesitantly over Shran’s thigh.  “I really want to.”

Shran felt the warm flesh of Archer’s hand drift up and rub against an antenna like it was another intimate part of anatomy.  His fingers tightened over Archer’s skin as a result.  “Pinkskin,” he growled, partly in warning, partly in arousal, bunching Archer’s shirt up.

Archer sat up, hazel eyes suddenly greener than Shran could ever remember.  “Yeah?” he responded in challenge, pulling his shirt off in defiance.

Shran muttered something in Andorian, and then proceeded to kiss the life out of Archer, hands and limbs everywhere, pinning him hard to the bed and dragging his fingers over the warm, peach-colored skin.

Archer broke away, so Shran went for the throat, kissing and nipping harshly.  “We did this, last night,” Archer managed to gasp out, tugging and jerking at Shran’s shirt until it was tossed carelessly to the floor.

Shran lifted his head, not realizing until now that he had one leg hitched over Archer’s thighs, his arm splayed beneath the human’s head and the other hand groping and appreciating the skin beneath him.  “Did we, pinkskin?”

Archer looked at him in a curious and serious way.  “Sure we did.”  He leaned up and captured Shran’s lips, licking across his mouth and thumbing his cheekbone.  “Would it matter if it was real?”

Shran wanted to say yes, but then he was kissing Archer again, pushing the man back into his bed, and before he could even think of an answer, he realized he was grinding his cock into Archer’s hip.

Archer shoved back against him, a hard line of arousal against Shran’s body.  “Maybe this is what we did.”  He twisted his hips and adjusted their bodies until Shran was rutting against him, between his legs, one hand under Archer’s knee and the other tangled in the soft dark hair.

Shran muttered an obscenity into Archer’s ear, and it was something that didn’t translate.

Archer bent his leg further, encouraging Shran’s hand to push his knee back.  Arousal burned loud and soft in his belly, his cock hard and leaking against the confine of his boxer briefs as Shran thrust against him.  “You want to fuck me, don’t you?” Archer asked bluntly, and felt as Shran’s hips stuttered against him.

Shran shot a glitteringly blue gaze into Archer’s eyes, as if annoyed by the question.  “Of course I do, pinkskin.  Who wouldn’t?”

And then Shran’s mouth was back at his throat, clever fingers dipping to the obvious bulge at his crotch.

Archer choked at the oddly cool hand fondling him through his jeans.  “So you don’t want me to fuck you?” he asked, only because he needed to know the answer.

Shran’s head dropped a bit against Archer’s collarbone, as if he were wary and amused.  “I’d imagine that eventually,” he scraped his teeth across Archer’s nipple while dragging an antenna against the other, “It won’t matter who fucks who.”

Archer stretched into the weird sucking feel of the antenna on his nipple.  “Okay,” he said, even though he completely wasn’t, but he was not about to stop Shran.  “So we do what we did last night then?”

Shran responded by sucking hard on Archer’s ribs, teeth biting and tongue soothing, not letting up until Shran seemed to be satisfied.  Archer didn’t realize his hands were tangled into Shran’s hair until Shran gently tugged his hands away.

“What?” Archer asked, noting the satisfied look on Shran’s face.

Shran smirked and thumbed the dark, obvious bite mark across Archer’s ribs.

Archer sighed.  “This is because I bit your antenna, isn’t it?”

Shran shrugged, sliding down to cover hot skin with cool.  “Different, I think.  You won’t feel that tomorrow; you’ll only see it.  What you did to my antenna…I’ll feel that for a week.”

Archer started to respond, but then Shran’s hands were on him again, sliding along his throat and teasingly drawing the line of his erect cock through his jeans, and he couldn’t find the air to voice anything.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Archer groaned emphatically.

“If you want,” Shran offered, his voice uncharacteristically insecure and hesitant.

Archer finally dragged a hand to the bulge between Shran’s legs, and Shran’s antennae stuttered in the exploration of Archer’s hair.  “So…you want me then?”

Shran snorted against Archer’s throat, and licked it after, appreciating the salty-savory taste.  “Don’t be stupid, pinkskin,” he grumbled.  “Andorians aren’t exactly…what do you Terrans call it?  The type to have one-night stands?”

Archer groaned when Shran’s hands flitted over his nipples, a hand tightening over the erection in Shran’s pants.  “Neither am I.”

“Then we’re in good company then, aren’t we?” Shran asked and tweaked one of Archer’s nipples, just to see if pinkskins were as sensitive as Andorians were.

They weren’t, but Shran was okay with that.

Archer wanted it face to face; apparently, the pinkskin had done this before.  But after intimately preparing him and sliding cool fingers into Archer, Shran wasn’t sure he could handle staring Archer in the face while he fucked him.  Archer, however, wasn’t having it any other way.

“If you’re going to fuck me, you’re going to look at me while you do it,” Archer snapped stubbornly.

When Shran slid in, inch by inch, he could feel Archer’s legs and knees hitching higher and higher around his body.  Then there were Archer’s hands, groping without control until one hand came to rest on a hip and the other gently touched an antenna.

Shran leaned down to cover Archer’s body with his own, muttering words that he knew the translator couldn’t pick up, one hand pushing Archer’s knee up further and the other holding Archer’s hip in place as he carefully thrust into the man below him.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Archer gasped against his ear, “Fuck, Shran, please, more… _Fucking Christ_ ,” he nearly sobbed when Shran hit the right spot, the sound breaking into pieces of arousal.

Shran didn’t realize how many declarations of love and commitment were falling from his lips until Archer was agreeing with him, agreeing to do _anything_ so long as Shran kept fucking him, _just like this_.  Shran reached around until he had his arms firmly across Archer’s back and tugged until Shran sat back on his heels and Archer was riding his lap, his dick hard and wet and desperate.

“Shran, _please_ ,” Archer practically whined into his hair.

Shran jerked his hips, splaying one hand across Archer’s tailbone, the other demanding and harsh in Archer’s hair.  “Go on…do it,” Shran demanded, his voice nearly unrecognizable.  “Are you going to come for me?  Without me even touching you?”

Archer groaned against him, tilting his hips in a way that Shran was pretty sure only Orion Slave Girls knew how to do.

Shran took it further and started with shallow, jerky thrusts.  “Come for me, pinkskin,” he demanded, but Archer didn’t, whining into Shran’s throat.

“Call me Jon,” Archer commanded out harshly into Shran’s ear.

Shran adjusted until his knees were more comfortable and he could really level his gaze with Archer.  “Fine,” he said icily, and used the hand tangled in Archer’s hair to pull his head down to his lips.  “Come for me, _Jon_.”

It seemed to do the trick though—Archer was coming, thick streaks of white staining his blue skin as the human trembled against him, jerking until his body couldn’t stay up anymore and collapsing back to the bed.  Shran would have caught him if he hadn’t been surprised and wasn’t so suddenly taken by the splayed, bronzed limbs in front of him.

It was too much, too much to see Archer giving himself up like this, to see him sprawled against the bed, fucked out and glassy-eyed, dick softening and still dotted with come—Shran started to fist his own cock desperately, bent over the man in his bed, right up until Archer threw Shran down to the covers and swallowed his cock down.

Shran muttered and gasped incoherently as he watched blush-colored lips wrap around his dick.  Before he could warn Archer though, he _knew_ he was going to come.  Archer choked around him, attempting to swallow, but streaks of cum ran down his chin into rivulets across his neck, even as he sucked and tongued as much out of Shran as he could.

Archer was the one who had the where-with-all to at least clean the ejaculate off of them, and then collapsed into the bed with Shran.  “I don’t think that’s what we did last night,” Archer mentioned idly.

Shran snorted beside of him.  “Pinkskin…” He rolled Archer towards him, taking in the warmth and softness of an alien body beside of him.  “I am fairly certain that all we did last night was cuddle.”

Archer grumbled beside of him before drifting into the chilled skin, fingers splayed over Shran’s hip and the other hand curled under Shran’s neck and to his shoulder.

Shran lay back.  The bruise at the bottom of his right antenna didn’t feel so bad now.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX


End file.
